


say that you're pretty so you stand up (before i drag you down)

by cryptidhearted



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drugging, Exhibitionism, F/M, Knifeplay, Knotting, genji's ethereal dragon cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidhearted/pseuds/cryptidhearted
Summary: This isn’t your usual place. You feel partially like you’re a sore thumb, sticking out and noticed by people whose crowd you don’t fit in with—but he’d invited you. It was flattering, almost, the way he’d bat his eyelashes at you and give you that smile that had something else in it you couldn’t quite identify. He was sweet, as far as you could tell. But you’re not so sure now, because Genji’s attention hasn’t been on you after you sat down at the table with him.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Reader
Kudos: 56





	say that you're pretty so you stand up (before i drag you down)

**Author's Note:**

> this is.... nasty? please heed warnings, i've tried to tag it appropriately.  
> i don't usually write reader/canon; this was a gift for someone very dear to me and not my usual shtick so if it's awkward as hell please chalk it up to that
> 
> anyway, warnings: non-consensual drug use (genji drugs your drink), rape, public sex/exhibitionism, knifeplay but as improper use of a shuriken, knotting? my genji is trans and he summons his dick because it's just a dragon thing he does. written specifically for a female reader!

You never much considered yourself the type to end up in this environment, and to be truthful, the events that led up to this are as much a blur as the rationality behind why you’re staying. There’s nobody between you and the door. Nobody’s holding you down in this dim, red-lit room. It’s just you and him and a table full of fried snacks and drinks, in this “VIP lounge”, as the door had said—well, that’s not entirely true, it’s you and him and the table full of fried snacks and drinks, and the awareness that there’s more tables than just this one. There are eyes on the two of you, you know, but the lighting makes it impossible to make out faces. Just movement in the red-lit dark, others having their low conversations over the music from the other, more crowded room of the club that makes it feel like the floor itself is shaking. It’s loud enough to rumble through your bones.

This isn’t your usual place. You feel partially like you’re a sore thumb, sticking out and noticed by people whose crowd you don’t fit in with—but he’d invited you. It was flattering, almost, the way he’d bat his eyelashes at you and give you that smile that had something else in it you couldn’t quite identify. He was sweet, as far as you could tell. But you’re not so sure now, because Genji’s attention hasn’t been on you after you sat down at the table with him.

The mingling conversations around you are just barely audible every time there’s a pause in the music, but the beat doesn’t stop long enough for you to hear more than a breath from the pairs of eyes.

Genji’s leaned in close to talk, and you can’t really help yourself from leaning closer to him, too.

“What’s got you so shy?” His accented voice purrs into your ear as he pushes one of the small plates and drinks that almost glow in the lighting towards you. “C’mon, eat, drink. You don’t have to pay for any of it—my treat, ay?” And he chuckles against your skin, the slight exhale of breath that makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Sure,” You say, eyeing the plates. “I—thanks.”

“Mmh.”

It isn’t like the food isn’t appealing. Quite the opposite—tempura, various small noodle dishes, soups, at least one thing you’d guess is okonomiyaki in the lighting that makes it hard to be sure—everything looks and smells incredibly appealing, but something about this whole evening just feels… sideways. It might be the eyes on you and it might be the feeling of Genji remaining so close even after you’ve picked up a piece of tempura—sweet potato, you think, the shape is right for it.

This isn’t your environment. You’re not comfortable here. It’s more than feeling like you’re being watched—it feels like those around you are holding their breaths waiting for something to happen, complicit in an oncoming trouble, and not knowing what it is they’re waiting for is making you sick to your stomach.

You eat anyway. Genji takes most of the plates nearer to him, uses his fingers instead of chopsticks. He snaps his fingers to get an attendant to come near to him, speaks in low Japanese with a brilliant and sharp-toothed smile towards you—he never once looks the attendant in the eye. Your mouth feels dry. You do your best to ignore it.

“Ordered a few drinks for the two of us.” Genji informs you with a purr in his voice. “Since nothing else seems to be that appealing to you right now— The nice shit, not the cheap shit, promise.”

“I wouldn’t mind a glass of water, actually,” you try, one hand over your mouth.

“Don’t you start getting boring on me _now,_ darling.” Genji chuckles with a roll of his eyes.

You don’t say anything, and Genji’s attention drifts to the room around the two of you. It feels like he’s waiting for something and you—don’t like that thought. You’ve been talking to him and seeing him off and on for a few days and you still don’t feel like you can guess at anything about this man. He hasn’t talked much about himself in the slightest.

The eyes on the two of you are starting to feel even more uncomfortable. It’s feeling somewhat like—like the eagerness before a show starts, a movie or a play or something, the lights go down and the curtain is still closed but the audience is quiet and waiting with bated breath and it’s starting to make your stomach twist up in uncomfortable knots.

You told him you’d go out with him tonight. You agreed to this. You’ve got a pretty good idea of what he wants out of it. You’re willing, you think, and yet—

The attendant returns after a short while and sets two drinks down in front of the two of you. Genji says something in Japanese again, something you sort of recognize that had some form of thank you in it, and your attention drifts to the glasses. Even in the red light, you can recognize the bright neon green and know on reflex that it’s going to be a fruity sort of cocktail that may or may not completely punch you in the mouth. Bright colors are always a good warning to back off, aren’t they?

He sits up from his lounging position in order to examine the drinks, reaching forward to take both, one in each hand. He makes a show out of taking a sip from each and then laughing, his musical and pleasant laugh that sends a shiver down your spine because there’s still something off about him in total and you really don’t know what it is.

“It’s good!” He promises, and you can see sharp teeth. “You’ll like it.”

A sudden crash on the other end of the room draws your attention, making you almost jump out of your skin as it interrupts the thumping music with the sound of shattering glass. It’s nothing. A quick glance because somebody dropped their pint glass and it shattered. But it’s long enough.

Genji pushes the drink towards you, his own in still in his hand, that brilliant (predatory?) smile remaining on his face. The red eyeliner stands out, illuminated by the red lighting and making you shiver slightly. Some reflex in the back of your mind is telling you that you should put the drink down and make your way out, but you ignore it. You don’t know why, and if someone asked, you wouldn’t be able to tell them; nerves, maybe. A desire to have him like you. There’s no telling.

The neon drink is as sweet as it looks to be: that is, excessively so, nearly making your teeth hurt. The burning of the alcohol that comes right after you swallow is equally as intense, and you wince, stifling a cough—it’s sure as hell cleared out your sinuses.

Genji is looking at you, his expression somewhat expectant as he lounges back again.

“Good?” He purrs.

“Yeah.” You answer with something of a cough, making to put the glass down on the table. “It’s—a lot, though, huh?”

“I guess.” His expression sours, slightly, and you don’t take your hand off the glass. “It’s my favorite, though. Really, really good at getting me wasted real quick.” He snickers. “Don’t tell me you’re scared off by a little booze?”

Your response is to pick up the glass and drain it, almost indignantly—and almost because you feel you _have_ to. Genji laughs at that, and you put the glass down, putting your hand against your mouth and regretting your decision almost instantly. The eyes on you are only getting more aware. You can hear their chatter between the thumping songs, still, hushed but still there, inaudible whispers. Your stomach twists—

Something settles on you uncomfortably, and you regret your stupid decision instantly.

“I didn’t expect you to do that.” Genji purrs as he sits up and draws you nearer to him. You can’t quite help it as you lean in closer to him, allowing him to move you. There’s a tingle at your fingers, your nose, your toes, somewhere in your stomach, your ears. “You were supposed to sip it, y’know.”

“That felt like a dare,” You mumble in return. Shame is hot in your chest, but it’s subdued as it becomes difficult for you to move. Genji’s laugh is near to your ear. He’s pulled you into his lap. It’s sudden, the discomfort; you’d guess at first that it would have been the alcohol, but you know what being drunk feels like, and this isn’t entirely right. His hands are moving up and down your sides and he rests your head against his shoulder with a low hum.

“God, that eager to please, huh? Good. I like that in a girl.” His thumb toys with the button on your pants. “Don’t puke on me.”

“M’not gonna.” You mutter in return. It’s disorienting to feel it coming on so fast, the heaviness in your limbs and the tingling sensation that feels like it’s overtaking most of your body. You feel the thumping of the music in your bones, in your veins—and you feel Genji’s hand reaching down past your pants and panties to your cunt, stifling a protest as his other hand wraps around your waist. “Wait—”

“Hush.” He tells you, his cheek against yours. “You drank the whole thing, s’a fucking miracle you’re remotely conscious. Maybe I shoulda got the cheap shit if you were gonna go that far.” Another chuckle, something under it like a growl—his dark eyes are green in the dim light, but it almost looks red because of it.

His fingers brush against your slit in an almost exploratory way, his hand feeling out the space between your legs with curiosity. His thumb parts your pussy lips and you squirm in his grip—but your body feels too heavy to so much as twitch. You feel his diligent touch slide between them, catching briefly on the hole of your cunt, but he doesn’t intrude. It’s a touch that is only interested.

Bile rises in your throat as you realize he drugged you.

“Not that it matters.” His voice is a pleasant hum as his hand withdraws, seemingly satisfied with his exploration. “I get what I want anyways. I thought you’d be an eager little slut to begin with, so I’m certainly glad to be proven right.”

He shoves you off of his lap and onto the table with only minimal effort to make sure you don’t land on any of the plates and dishes, face first. The sudden movement is dizzying, making you have to swallow hard to keep yourself from vomiting. He pushes the plates, empty and full, to the side, setting his own half-finished drink beside your head. Did he put it in both, in case you didn’t trust him? He drank from both—was it made with it? You don’t know. You can’t think clearly. Your head is swimming.

The eyes of the strangers in the room are especially on you, now. You can see figures in the dark who have turned slightly to watch—to enjoy the show, your sluggish mind provides, and you feel claws moving leisurely down your back to hook in the waistband of your pants.

Genji tugs hard and pulls them down your hips without bothering to unzip or unbutton anything, exposing your ass and your cunt to the cold air and the thumping music and you can’t stop the sudden whimper that comes from you. The response from him is something of a laugh and it almost feels like it echoes as claws dig into the flesh of your ass, a bruising—piercing feeling.

He doesn’t feel human, says something in the fog of your brain. You have no answer for it.

The echo might just be somebody else in the room laughing at seeing you in such a predicament.

A plate crashes to the ground and the sound echoes again and you wince against it as he places his hands on his hips and you feel his weight on top of your body. People can see the two of you. People are watching the two of you, and he’s not—not even deterred? Nobody’s going to intervene? He’s going to—

A purr against your ear.

“I was hoping you’d be a little more aware, pretty girl.” Genji murmurs to you. “I like it when they’re fighting me. But this is fine too, I suppose.” He plants a kiss at your ear, then brushes your hair aside to put it against the back of your neck, and you feel his predatory smirk as his hands move to your wrists for a moment. His fingers entwine with your hand, squeeze once—claws digging into the back of your hand—and he pulls himself away from you with a laugh.

There’s a pulse in the air of electricity on your skin and you struggle to keep your eyes open as he moves you from lying on your stomach to laying on your back. The dim lighting is a blessing at this point, as the dots of red feel far away and absent. Genji moves your hands above your hand again, treating you like a ragdoll—you can hear him click his tongue and say something in Japanese, an almost pitying tone that makes you think he’s said something you wouldn’t like.

The cool air on your pussy as he spreads your legs for you makes you squeak involuntarily, and your eyes roll back briefly as you struggle again to stay awake. Your pants and panties are still half on, hanging off of one leg. Genji’s still mostly dressed, his pants pulled down slightly. There’s the stink of fire in the air, flint and matches, and you whine, making an attempt to speak, to refuse—

The dick between your legs isn’t what you expected. It’s—hot, unnaturally so, and while you could chalk that up to the fact that your date for the evening has just successfully drugged you into a stupor and sensations are weird, the feeling of spines is an uncomfortable deterrence to that thought. Your eyes drift down between your legs in something of an attempt to look, and you see that green again—a pointed tip, leaking precum that seems to evaporate before it drips, ethereal neon pressed against your stomach as he pushes your shirt up to knead at your tits. The predatory look in his eyes has intensified, his expression one of pleasure and focus all at once, bright green eyes boring into yours. He does have claws. You feel like you’re about to be sick.

Your shirt is shoved above your tits, bra more or less ripped through by the talons on his hands that leave red marks on your skin. His touch is bruising as he toys with your breasts, his interest only in feeling the heaviness with clear amusement. You make an attempt to squirm away, but that seems fruitless at this point—

The eyes on the two of you are still there. In the corner of your gaze. Partygoers stopping to see the show.

You bite your tongue.

He thrusts into you suddenly and you would scream if you were able—it comes out more like an abrupt squeal than anything else. He is _big,_ thick and ridged and feeling decidedly _inhuman,_ and you struggle to inhale as his hands move back to your hips to hold you still. Inch after inch is fed into your cunt, and your body reacts because it has to—you feel yourself grow wet around him in what is an effort to compensate for the sudden intrusion, struggling to look downwards towards where the two of you meet. You can see a glow beneath your skin—feel him grow wider near the base of his draconic cock—feel the heat of what must be his balls against your skin as he forces himself into you to the hilt.

He’s practically drooling in his pleasure as he looks down at you, his head tilted slightly to the side and an almost serpentine tongue swiping across sharp teeth.

“You feel like heaven.” He purrs at you. English. It’s for you. Like a gift. “I should thank you for hurrying it up for me.”

The movements he starts don’t exactly feel gentle, or like they’re in any effort to do anything for you. He’s strong, each thrust into your pussy shaking the table and the dishes and the whole of your body. You gasp and whimper—it feels like there’s stars in your head, sparking in your vision and making you try and lift your hands to push against him, but your body feels too heavy to move. The attempt to lift your arms results in a twitch of your fingers. His cock spreads your pussy open further than you’d ever have thought you were capable of, and you feel like it should hurt more, especially with the ridges on his dick—and yet it doesn’t, whatever drug he’s dosed you with making it hard for you to think clearly enough to even realize if it does hurt.

His hips meet yours steadily and his hands move from your hips to your shoulders to hold you down more firmly. Genji’s eyes are on your face with an expression of amusement and interest and he keeps his pace going as he leans in close to you again, pressing a kiss to your jawline and making you tilt your head back in the process.

His entourage is here, you realize, dimly. A few men and women lingering near the door, nearly bored. They’ve been hanging around him, and off of him, for the few days you’ve had the misfortune of knowing Genji Shimada—one blows their cigarette smoke towards you and you stifle a sob at the sensation of shame and disbelief as he kisses at your cheek again.

“Hush.” He purrs at you, sweeter this time. “You know what you’re here for, my little cocksleeve, did you think anything different?” And he laughs, one of his entourage rolling his eyes at his words as one arm wraps around you and Genji’s bruising pace gets a little bit stronger. “Lucky for you, I don’t like to share.”

You feel something at the base of his cock growing thicker. Feel it move in and out of your pussy in a motion that makes it clear it’s going to get difficult to pull out, if the shift in the way he moves his hips is anything to go by. The slap of his hips against yours increases and for a moment there’s a striking fear that he may _break_ something—

The knot is forced into you with a noise like a growl and again you try to scream, only to whimper as you feel the heat of his ethereal cum filling you to the brim. It’s too much, too much, a searing heat deep in the pit of your stomach that makes you tremble underneath him. It’s burning, burning from the inside out—you moan, lowly, a noise of pain rather than pleasure, and Genji lets you go only to stand up properly.

The movement of his hips hurts. There’s nowhere for his cum to go, and so it simply fills your womb instead as you pant for breath and Genji shifts to make himself more comfortable. The knot keeps you plugged efficiently, and his clawed hands tap a pattern into your abdomen. He hums lightly, and laughs lightly as he digs in the pocket of his pants to produce one of his shuriken.

Your mind is hazy still as you feel cold steel pressing against your abdomen, a very sudden contrast to the heat inside of your womb that makes your whole body jerk involuntarily. The cold increases as the steel presses against your skin and you feel it break through you, and Genji sets to work. A carving, on your abdomen above your navel as your vision blurs and clears and blurs and clears in waves. You shiver underneath him and you can tell he’s making an effort to lift the shuriken as briefly as he can; some markings are simply deeper than others.

Your head falters, cheek resting against the table as you struggle to catch your breath.

The sudden emptiness is as startling as the initial entrance had been, and you gasp as he pulls the shuriken away from your stomach with a flourish, stepping back to pull his pants up and give you a look similar to examining a bug under a pin. It hadn’t felt like he’d even pulled out—simply like he’d been there one moment, and then was gone the next. He scratches at his chin absently and slides the shuriken back into his pocket, and smiles down at you, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips, almost affectionate.

“Something to remember me by.” Genji purrs at you, tapping the carving on your abdomen with three fingers before he stands up again, picking up the remains of a snack that had been near your head. “You’ll always remember how to spell my name right, at least.” And he snickers with his mouth full, stepping around and past you towards the entourage near the door. They speak in Japanese, and Genji replies in tandem without so much as a pause—the music quiets, briefly, as the door shuts behind them.

The eyes on you linger, and the last thing you hear before you allow the darkness to swallow you is the sound of a chair shifting as someone stands to come near to you.


End file.
